


Pieces of the people we love

by Ptolemia



Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Missing Scene, and will my thirst for stuPID GAYPERION NONSENSE EVER BE QUENCHED??, answer: probably no to both, will fiona's thirst for beautiful ladies ever be quenched that is what we must ask ourselves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-15
Updated: 2015-08-15
Packaged: 2018-04-14 22:25:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4582404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ptolemia/pseuds/Ptolemia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The scene that was mysteriously missing from the episode three title sequence - you know, the one where Rhys and Vaughn finally kiss. Because come on, it must have happened at some point.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pieces of the people we love

**Author's Note:**

> literally i will never stop writing the literal thousands of different possible ways in which rhys and vaughn could have got together i will neVER STOP
> 
> im not totally happy with the pacing on this but ive stared at it for like 2 weeks now and i want to move on with some other writing cos im sorta working on a follow-up to bro for bro so??? this is what ur gettin sorry lads
> 
> also - more sleepy gayperion because IM ALWAYS A SLUT FOR SLEEPY GAYPERION (massive shout-out to apnea for drawin adorable sleepy gayperion and thus introducing me to literally the most important thing in the universe and im now going to be writing about it forever because its sUCH A CUTE IDEA)

It was, Sasha explained, one of those unfortunate things that seems to crop up when you suddenly have a caravan full of people who nobody had expected to arrive, much less to be needing to sleep there. The trouble was – and she hoped Rhys and Vaughn didn't mind, but if they did they'd have to lump it, sorry not sorry – that there were only three beds. One was hers, one was Fiona's, and the other, previously property of Felix (“who can rot in hell before he gets his scumbag lying ass back on board this caravan”), had been claimed very quickly by a scowling Athena who hadn't yet finished her coffee; for some reason nobody had felt much like arguing over that.

“I did offer to share with her,” volunteers Fiona. “Saving space, y'know. But she didn't seem to like the idea.”

Sasha sighs. “She has a girlfriend, Fiona. Anyway, look, Rhys, Vaughn, the point of all this is that-”

“Yeah,” says Fiona, looking slightly dreamy, “She showed me a picture. You know, she's actually _also_ super cute, so...”

Sasha glares. “No, Fiona.”

“What?”

“Just... no.”

“Alright! Fine! Jeez, Sash, you don't want me to have any fun, do you? You just want me to die old and alone, with nobody to love or care for-”

“I'd rather you die old and alone than young and alone because you hit on Athena's girlfriend.”

“I- alright. Point taken.”

“And hey,” says Sasha, smiling brightly, “Me and my beautiful trophy husband will doubtless be able to support you in your twilight years.”

“Sasha.”

“I'll buy you a cat.”

“Sasha.”

“Two cats.”

“Sasha!”

“You drive a hard bargain. Three cats and my husband can install a stair lift for you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I was explaining the bed situation to our dear friends Rhys and Vaughn.”

 

Fiona makes a vague spluttering noise of protest, but wisely decides to leave it there.

“Dear friends?” says Rhys, aiming for sneering indifference and hitting a note which sounds a lot more like vague desperation.

“No, sorry - did I say that? I _meant_ to say  Hyperion bastards. Slip of the tongue.”

Rhys shrugs. “Easy mistake to make.”

“Isn't it just? Anyway, yeah, the bed situation – uh, there aren't any.”

“Great,” says Rhys. “Just brilliant. Lets go sleep out in the desert, Vaughn! Doesn't that sound like fun? I saw a programme about desert survival on tv once - back when I had a tv. And a flat. And a nice warm bed. And, you know, a life that wasn't some kind of surreal burning desert bandit hellhole of death. But I'm sure the desert will be lovely! We can kill a skag and shelter inside its meaty carcass for warmth!”

“Oooh,” says Vaughn, “Can we?”

Rhys stares at him. “You're not seriously- oh my god. No.”

Vaughn looks vaguely crestfallen. “Oh, right. Well, there are probably some good rocks to sleep on, anyway.”

Rhys, who is a complete sucker for Vaughn doing puppy eyes, immediately feels like a terrible person – admittedly, this is probably an accurate feeling, but that's not the point – and tries to backtrack. “Oh, no, hey bro, look – if you really want to, uh, kill a skag and sleep in its stomach we can... we can do... that...”

“Really?”

“Yes?” says Rhys, at a pitch about two octaves higher than his normal voice.

“Awesome!” says Vaughn, slinging his arms round Rhys' waist. “You're the best, bro.”

“Thanks,” says Rhys, rather weakly.

 

“Ooookay,” says Sasha, “So, you realise that you're both crazy?”

“Like, 'I have the shiniest meat bicycle' crazy” adds Fiona, helpfully squatting and pointing finger guns at her face to further illustrate her point.

“Right,” says Sasha, and then - “Fiona, can you please not jump on the furniture like that? We get it, it's a good impression. You can stop.”

“Aw,” says Fiona, “You never let me have any fun.”

Sasha rolls her eyes. “Well if I was a horrible pushover who just let you do anything you wanted then I, like Rhys, might end up agreeing to sleep in a skag carcass. That's weird, guys. I want you to know from the bottom of my heart that that's weird. Even for Pandora.”

“Thanks,” Rhys deadpans.

“You're welcome. Look, what I was going to say is that there are no more beds, but you guys can fight it out over which one of you gets the couch. It's actually pretty comfy. Curve's a bit annoying, and you have to watch not to hit your head on the table, but it's not bad. And there's probably some spare blankets somewhere which the other one can put on the softest bit of floor you can find, so you should be alright.”

“It's almost a shame that Scooter did the car up so nice,” muses Fiona, “There used to be a really damp patch over by the right back wheel where the water got in, and that was super soft.”

“But damp,” says Sasha.

Fiona throws her hands up. “Oh, well, if you're going to get picky...”

Sasha tuts. “This is all theoretical, in any case, because there's no more damp patch. And the brakes actually work more than twenty percent of the time now, which is a bonus.”

“Ah, working brakes,” says Fiona, “my one solace in life.”

“And the engine isn't half-bad now he's got it going.”

“The engine...” whispers Fiona, looking a little misty-eyed. “It's so beautiful.”

“Uh, right. But,” says Sasha, turning back to Rhys and Vaughn, “that's the gist of it. You can fight over the couch. Or flip a coin, whatever.”

“We'll share,” says Rhys, almost before he's thought about it. “I mean,” he adds, “if that's alright with you, bro?”

Vaughn nods. “'Course it is. I'd probably have felt weird killing a skag anyway. We'd have to find an already dead one and that might smell so... uh, yeah. Couch.”

“Couch,” agrees Rhys, planting an absent-minded kiss on Vaughn's forehead. “C'mon, lets go find those blankets and we can get ourselves set up for the night.”

Vaughn trails after him, smiling quietly to himself.

 

Once the blankets are found, Sasha disappears off to cook everyone dinner, and Fiona trails after her. Rhys hopes that the occasional comment of 'Sasha, you're not seriously suggesting we eat that', or 'You're sure this one isn't poisonous?' is just Fiona's idea of a joke. Fiona is definitely joking. Fiona is probably joking. Fiona is possibly joking. Maybe.

“Fiona's joking, right?” he asks Vaughn, after a particularly loud exclamation of 'Sash, no, eating that's gonna kill them for sure!'

Vaughn laughs, tugging him down onto the heap of blankets on the couch. “Of course she's joking,” Then Sasha opens the oven, which lets out a brief belch of thick blackish smoke.

Rhys raises an eyebrow.

“Uh... maybe let her eat some of it first, though. Just in case.” says Vaughn, wrapping one of the blankets around Rhys with a reassuring pat.

“Yeah, but-” begins Rhys, but Vaughn is too busy tucking him into the blankets and fussing over making sure he's comfortable to listen to any more discussion of the edibility (or otherwise) of whatever it is Sasha's cooking. After a weak attempt at protesting that he can arrange his pillow for himself, thank you very much, Rhys decides that he might as well just submit to being clucked over. It's nice, really – gentle and simple and familiar. Comforting. Vaughn has a knack for that – for making things seem alright, even when they probably aren't, and they're hurtling through the desert in a caravan owned by a pair of crooks they barely know, with no job and no money and no plan to speak of. Vaughn, regardless of circumstance, is always just... Vaughn. He's sort of short, and a little bit strange, and his nose wrinkles adorably when he's concentrating on something like he is right now, fussing and fiddling with blankets and pillows and nudging Rhys' legs to the side so they can both just about fit on the couch. When he eventually decides he's satisfied with the arrangement, and flops down onto Rhys' chest with a satisfied little huff of air, Rhys can't help but grin.

“I like you,” he says.

Vaughn beams.

After a momemt, Rhys nudges him. “That's where you're supposed to say you like me too, just so you know.”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Well, I mean, I do. Obviously. You're great.”

“I am great. I really am.”

Vaughn shakes his head. “Yeah, yeah. The greatest.”

Rhys has something to say to that – something very intelligent and witty, probably – but he's slowly becoming aware of exactly how much Vaughn weighs. “Dude, you are, like, weirdly heavy considering that you're, y'know, tiny.”

Vaughn shrugs. “The perils of being buff. It's a hard life.”

“Yeah, shit, I forgot about that. When did that even happen, bro? Like, one minute there you are all scrawny, and the next minute you're... well, still scrawny, but... scrawny with _muscles_. How did you-”

“I exercised.”

Rhys rolls his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, I could have guessed that, smartass. But like, how exactly-”

“ _Lots_ of exercise,” elaborates Vaughn.

“Wow. Huh. What a revelation. You should write a book – 'How to get buff, by Vaughn'. With insights like that you'd top the bestseller list for sure.”

“Yeah,” says Vaughn, “that's how I plan to get that ten million dollars we need to have so we don't die.” He sighs. “You know, that was funnier in my head. It's actually kind of depressing when you say it out loud. All that money, just... gone.”

Rhys ruffles his hair. “We'll be fine.”

“Yeah?”

“I have no idea. Maybe we won't be. But I'll look out for you, I promise.”

“Thanks, bro.”

“Or at least, I will do if you don't crush me with your super buff body first.”

Vaughn looks vaguely confused.

“Uh, because you're heavy? Because of your muscles?”

“Right.”

“It... sounded weird out loud. I just meant- I mean, you're actually gonna crush me if you lie on me like that.”

“Oh, right,” says Vaughn, sitting up. “Well, I guess we were going to have to move to eat in a minute anyway.”

 

At which point, as luck would have it, Sasha comes striding over from the oven with a casserole dish. She plonks it down on the table with an expression of deep satisfaction.

“There! Lots of protein.”

“Protein from what?” asks Rhys, struggling his way up through several layers on blanket into a vague sitting position.

Sasha narrows her eyes at him. “Is there a problem?”

“That kind of depends on how you answer the question.”

“Meat. Protein from meat.”

“What kind of-”

“Just meat, Rhys.”

“Look, I'm not asking about for the specific cuts because you're Pandoran and I accept that I have to cut you some slack with complex questions, but unless I know what animal it is-”

“Yeah, well, with that attitude I'm not telling you anything, asshole. It's meat.”

“I want to know what kind of meat.”

“Well, I'm not telling you. Suck it up.”

“Well!” says Fiona, cheerfully, “it looks nicer and nicer the less I think about it. Tuck in, everyone!”

Sasha glares at Rhys, and cuts into the casserole with the kind of cold fury that would probably be a lot scarier if she was wielding a knife instead of a serving spoon. She slams food onto plates with the sort of seething wrath and general disdain that makes Rhys suspect she must have been a school lunch lady in another life. He refrains from saying this, because he doesn't want to die.

 

Once he's actually tasted it, though, he has to admit that it's actually really not that bad. Not out loud, (he has an image to maintain, after all) but quietly, to himself - and to Vaughn, later, once the plates have been cleared and everyone has headed off to their respective beds. Their loss, thinks Rhys. He'd rather be cuddled up on the couch with Vaughn then on his own in some horrible badly-sprung camp bed any day.

“I knew you liked that cassarole more than you let on,” laughs Vaughn. “And Sasha's not so bad if you don't rile her up. That was a nice meal, really.”

“Yeah,” says Rhys, “It was. I'm even starting to warm to Athena.”

“Really?”

“No, she scares the shit out of me.”

Vaughn giggles.

“I'm serious! She keeps giving me the evils. It's like she's watching me or something.”

“Dude, I'm sure she isn't-”

Vaughn breaks off mid-sentence as a torch flicks on next to the couch, under-lighting Athena's glaring face. “Boo,” she whispers.

Rhys squeals.

“Be quiet,” she hisses. “Some of us are trying to sleep.”

“What the-,” Rhys splutters, “What- how long have you been standing there?”

She glares at him. “That doesn't sound very quiet to me.”

“I-” he begins.

“Shh!” says Vaughn.

Athena looks as though she might almost crack a smile, but it could just be a trick of the light. “Your friend has the idea.” She puts a finger to her lips. “Shh. You understand?”

Rhys nods, and she shines the torch on him for a moment, then, clearly satisfied that her work is done, disappears off to her bed on the far side of the caravan.

 

They both stay very, very still after that, breathing slowly. After a while, Rhys nudges Vaughn and whispers, “Hey, bro, are you still awake?”

“Shh, keep it down! Do you want Athena to come over here again?”

Rhys narrows his eyes for a moment, then tugs the blanket over their heads. “She probably can't hear us under here,” he says. “Not if we stay super quiet.”

Vaughn shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. Not risking it.”

Rhys snickers. “You're such a wuss, Vaughn. C'mon, she's probably asleep already.”

“And if she's not?”

“Then she can't hear us,” says Rhys, stroking Vaughn's arm. “Chill out, man.”

“Oh, because of this scrawny little blanket? You think that'll stop her and her... her... freakish mercenary super bat hearing? Huh?”

“There's no way she can hear-”

“Yeah, I'm pretty sure she can. Like, with her ears. She can hear us! Right now!”

“Ok, Vaughn, I'm hearing your concerns and I'm accepting them, but consider this - even if she can hear us, she can't _find_ us.”

“She... what?”

“Yeah. 'Cos we're under this blanket.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“If we can't see her, she can't see us. Duh.”

“Shut up,” grumbles Vaughn, laughing a little despite himself, “that doesn't even make sense, dumbass.”

“Uh, well, maybe _you_ don't even make sense, Vaughn.”

Vaughn snorts. “Oh wow, yeah, you got me there bro.”

“Damn right I do. You can't argue with logic,” says Rhys, nuzzling into Vaughn's neck and snickering quietly.

“Right. Sure. What d'you want to talk about, then? Y'know, in the precious few seconds we have before Athena comes over and murders us.”

Rhys shrugs, shuffling over so he's nose-to-nose with Vaughn. “I don't know.”  
“You just like the sound of your own voice, huh?”

“I like the sound of your voice, bro.”

It's too dark to see anything, but Rhys can almost _hear_ Vaughn rolling his eyes. “Yeah yeah, sure you do.”

“I mean, ok, so maybe I like the sound of my own voice as well, but still...”

Vaughn snorts. “I noticed.”

“No, but- but I like listening to you better.”

Vaughn makes a profoundly sceptical noise.

“I do! You say good stuff. I mean, you also say a lot of really weird stuff, but that's good too. Well, not _good_ , but hey, I like to hear it anyway. And you have a nice voice. And you- you talk sometimes I just... I... I don't know. You talk with your hands and you grin a little bit sometimes when you're excited, and it's kind of lopsided but it's perfect and you have these tiny little freckles on the bridge of your nose and half the time I just want to reach out and-” Rhys clears his throat, mouth strangely dry. “Uh, anyway. It's, uh... it's always good to hear from you, bro. That's- that's what I'm saying.” Vaughn says nothing, but he's close enough that Rhys can feel him breathing – a little faster than usual, he thinks, but maybe that's Rhys himself, who has a stomach full of butterflies and a distinct feeling that he's said a little bit too much. “Uh, that kind of got away from me,” he says, with a nervous laugh.

“Tiny freckles?” asks Vaughn.

“Yeah, but you have to be super close to even see them and- look, forget I said that. I'm tired, and you know when you're, like, super sleepy and you say stuff and then you're like, argh, that was not-”

“You do too,” murmurs Vaughn.

“What?”

“Tiny freckles. You have tiny freckles on your nose.”

“Oh. I... uh... Huh. I didn't know that.”  
“Well,” says Vaughn, “Now you do.” He tilts his head a little, and they both freeze up for a second when their noses bump together, mouths almost touching.

“Now I do,” whispers Rhys. He's struck by the sudden urge to reach out and stroke Vaughn's cheek, but his hand is currently wrapped around Vaughn's waist and he can't quite bring himself to move it. Normally he'd use the other one, but it's currently detached from his shoulder and resting on a sidetable at the far side of the room with half the joints unscrewed – Sasha had been tinkering with it before dinner to try and get all the sand out of the mechanism.

 

So he can't do anything but grip onto Vaughn's waist and take little stuttering breaths when Vaughn reaches up and brushes his thumb gently along his lower lip.

“So,” Vaughn says.

“!!!!” says Rhys, a noise which comes out sounding like a very muffled squeak.

Vaughn laughs. “Alright there?”

“Uh, yep, fine,” says Rhys.

“Mmm?”

“Yeah, I am... I am great,” he mumbles, “and you are... actually super distracting, dude.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah because here I am trying to talk and you're, uh... uh...” Rhys trails off, swallowing down whatever dumb comment he was about to make because it's dark and he can't see but he can sure as hell _feel_ and Vaughn has a hand gripped tight on his waist and their mouths are impossibly close and he's pretty sure Vaughn is leaning in, or he is, or they both are, and so he stays quiet and closes his eyes and- “Are we about to kiss?” he squeaks.

“Uh, I think so?” says Vaughn.

 

And they do. It's gentle and slow and sleepy, and Rhys can feel a slow coil of heat in the pit of his stomach which suggests that maybe it won't always be, and maybe tomorrow they'll kiss and it'll be desperate for slightly more pleasant reasons than the fact that this planet is terrifying and dangerous and their future is horribly uncertain. But right now they kiss and it's comforting and warm and familiar as if they've done it a thousand times before.

Vaughn pulls back with a little giggle. “I was so nervous about that,” he whispers, reaching out to clutch Rhys' hand, “I was so nervous and it was _fine_.”

“Fine?” says Rhys, dropping back into the familiar rhythm of vague sarcasm as easily as if they hadn't just kissed, as if nothing has changed at all and everything is normal. But then, maybe it is - it _feels_ normal, kissing Vaughn, half asleep and tired and curled up together at the end of a long day. It feels right, somehow. Like he should have done it years ago.

“Better than fine,” says Vaughn, leaning in to kiss him again, and Rhys can feel him grinning before he leans back and laughs softly and says, “You know, I feel like I'm kind of glad we're not huddled up for warmth inside a skag carcass right now. It would have been cool, but I have to admit maybe this would all have been a little bit ruined by, y'know, there being intestines and stuff everywhere.”

Rhys snorts, “Oh my god, can you imagine? Gross.”

“And Athena didn't come over here and kill us, which would probably also have been not so great, all things considered.”

“She wasn't going to kill us, bro. She's probably asleep, anyway.”

“I guess. It's late, to be fair.”

Rhys yawns. “Pretty late.”

Vaughn hums in agreement, pulling Rhys closer and settling up against him with a contented little sigh.

 

He says nothing, breathing slowly settling into a steady rhythm, and after a while Rhys kisses his forehead. “Hey, I can move the pillow over if you want to sleep, bro.”

“Don't want to sleep,” mumbles Vaughn, sounding a lot like he's suppressing a yawn.

“You sure? You sound kind sleepy.”

“'m not sleepy,” says Vaughn, definitely yawning this time. “We can talk, or something.”

“Mmm? What about?”

“Uh... how was your day?”

“Well, you were here for most of it.”

“Uh, yeah, I guess. Still.”

Rhys smiles, resting his forehead against Vaughn's. “It was good.”

“Mine too,” says Vaughn, and then, “I lied. I do need to sleep. Urgh, you remember we used to pull all-nighters back in college? When did I get old?”

“You're not even thirty, bro. You're young. You're down with the kids.”

“Yeah,” says Vaughn, “I'm going to put it out there that I have never been 'down with the kids'. Not even when I was a kid. I did extra maths homework in my spare time.”

“Ok, but you're still not old and you _do_ pull all-nighters. You pulled one last week because Yvette beat all the high scores on that dumb snake game on your phone and you refused to sleep until you were back on top of the leaderboard.”

“That... yeah, that's true. I had coffee though.”

“Mmm.”

“And you're really warm. And comfortable.”

“Mmm.”

“And I'm tired.”

“Just go to sleep, Vaughn. It's fine.”

Vaughn fusses with the blankets, curling himself up with his head on Rhys' chest. “'Night.”

Rhys smiles. “'Night, Vaughn.”

 

Tomorrow, thinks Rhys, as Vaughn begins to snore quietly, they'll probably have to talk about all this, but right now he's happy and tired and wrapped up under the blankets with Vaughn curled up beside him, and it feels like nothing in the world could possibly be better than drifting off to sleep, safe and warm. And so he does.

 


End file.
